


my lungs are fresh and yours to keep

by maranhig



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maranhig/pseuds/maranhig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. team prison gets drunk, daryl gets handsy.<br/>2. maggie commits accidental voyeurism.<br/>3. everyone knows daryl is the grimes kids' second dad.<br/>4. lori thinks it's about getting even.<br/>5. rough sex, and maybe more.<br/>6. strategically placed mistletoe.<br/>7. daryl freaks out the first time he makes rick moan.<br/>8. a reunion post-"too far gone."<br/>9. bob overhears daryl comforting rick after a nightmare.<br/>10. rick is huffy over how daryl and carol are.<br/>11. nearly seeing the man you love die shifts perspective.<br/>12. comics-verse; rick loses too much at alexandria's first siege.<br/>13. crossbow lessons give way to loud car sex.<br/>14. riding bitch on the bike might be a bad move.<br/>15. the first kiss is rick's, the first punch is daryl's.<br/>16. glenn's polaroid gives daryl ideas.<br/>17. booze-fueled midnight confessions.<br/>18. comics-verse; daryl walks in on rick shaving and is not pleased.<br/>19. denial is a river in which you skinny dip together and say everything's peachy.<br/>20. carl's sick of all the aimless flirting.<br/>21. the way they are with each other brings tears to hershel's eyes, sometimes.<br/>22. addendum, for MK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. drunken kind of boldness

**Author's Note:**

> title from "guernica" by brand new. i own nothing but my shame(lessness) about what has transpired here.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: I'd love to see something sweet and funny about the group cracking open some alcohol to celebrate, but Rick and Daryl end up more interested in each other than whatever the others are doing?

There hasn’t been a night like this since the CDC, everyone of legal drinking age gathered in the mess hall moderately buzzed from piss-warm beer, loose-limbed and happy. Glenn and Maggie are all but tangled together like vines, and Tyreese is staring at Karen unabashedly, flustering as she smiles and goes to peck him on the cheek. You’ve already made sure Carl’s sound asleep and not trying to sneak back in with Patrick.  Carol and Hershel left a while ago already; too many past devils rise up when it comes to alcohol.

You take another swig from your can, startle and splutter when out of nowhere an arm snakes around your waist. Bewildered, you try and turn around to see who it is, but it’s like wading through sand and you only end up with a head tucked on your shoulder and, oh _god_ a tongue licking at you through your beer-stained shirt.

And okay, you’re pretty drunk already. But you easily recognize the sun-darkened hair, the smoky musk and calloused hands sliding into your jeans and boxers to grasp your hips. You tremble at the onslaught of sensation his skin against yours brings, though you manage to breathe out, “Daryl, if I’d known you were a clingy drunk I’da raided every liquor store in the county.”

He huffs a laugh right on your neck, lets you cup his jaw and thumb at his pretty red mouth. “Naw, ya wouldnta needed to. But I’m nicer like this, yeah.”

The weighted stares and snickers of the women (and even some of the _men_ , Christ) brings you back to your senses, and you tug his hands off you, start dragging him away. All shame’s been thrown out the window as you grin at him and drawl, “There’s a bed needs warming, brother.”

Michonne calls out from across the hall, “Use those condoms I got you, boys!” But Daryl only flips the bird at her and those joining in the laughter, his eyes never bothering to leave yours.


	2. untimely interruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Could you maybe write something funny of Glenn or Maggie walking in on a 'moment' between Rick and Daryl for the first time? Pretty please?

You can’t help the little squeak that gusts out of you, almost dropping Glenn’s silly Polaroid camera because Daryl, prickly and stoic as hell Daryl has Rick backed up against the wall, his hand moving unmistakably between their bodies as he mouths at Rick’s ear. Rick has his leg half-wrapped around Daryl’s thigh and his fingers twisted in Daryl’s hair, tipping his head back and gasping in utter bliss.

Until he opens his eyes and spots you, that is.

He honest to god _yelps_ and shoves Daryl off, and when Daryl sees you too he swears a blue streak and they both try to cover up but the damage has been done. Your brain finally catches up with the rest of your system and you stumble out of the office block completely with your hand over your eyes, crying out “I’m sorry, I’m so, I didn’t see anything, don’t worry, I won’t tell!”

Vaguely you hear Daryl tearing into Rick about it, _you told me nobody came here you goddamn moron!_ , and you’re not walking fast and farther enough to miss Rick’s cheeky rejoinder of “Well, she’s gone now, so why don’t you settle down” and Daryl’s sudden moan, and doesn’t _that_ make the imagination run wild.

It’s your giggles you’re smothering now as you make your way back to the guard tower, never mind that you didn’t get the pencils and papers Carol wanted. The only thought going through your head by now is how you and Glenn wouldn’t have been so careless, and would use one of the offices and lock the door, at least.

Huh. That’s gonna be something you’ll suggest to him one of these days, for sure.


	3. new addition to the family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: could I have some fluffy rickyl where the whole group acknowledges daryl as carl and judith's 'daddy number two'?

It’s when even Charlie, that sleepwalker who’s dense as a fucking cork at the best of times, grins at you while you’re trying  _(trying_  being the key word here) to slip booties onto a kicking-about, happily gurgling Judith and asks if you’re the mama in your little family that you realize you’re maybe in way deeper than you thought. And it’s when your chest constricts as you hand Judith back to Beth, who’s wisely schooling her face into one devoid of amusement, that you realize you’re so, so fucked.

"D’ya think I’m spendin too much time with yer kids?" you ask Rick later down at the pea patches, where he’s kneeling in  the dirt and covered in sweat and not looking the least bit appealing as he slants you a small smirk over his shoulder. Not appealing at all. "Jeez, Daryl, it’s not like my daughter’s first word was practically your name," he chides, and your face flushes at that, remembering sitting in his and Carl’s cell in the wee hours of the morning, expecting to hear something like  _dada_  come out of the baby’s mouth and getting a different thing entirely.

You shift on your feet when he gets up and pulls off his gloves, startle a bit when he curves his hand over your stomach to get you to look him in the eye. “Hey,” he murmurs, and when he takes his hand away you feel oddly bereft. “I got no problem with it.” The tone of his voice tells you that he’s not just talking about you being so close to his children, and you’re glad you won’t have to bring up _that_ anymore, this thing brewing between the two of you. “And I don’t care what people think. Neither does Carl. But if it’s makin you uncomfortable –”

"Nah, I’m just." You plaster on a scowl. "No pet names or I’m takin off for good."

His smile morphs into an utterly shit-eating grin as he says, “Sure thing, dear heart.”

You rip off some unripe pods from a vine to chuck them at the back of his retreating head, and his outraged yelp of _we’re rationing these peas, goddamnit_ has actual laughter bubbling up in you, something you’ve never felt for a long time until now.


	4. tap on the shoulder by a concrete wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: could you write one set in s2 where the ladies of the group gossip about how daryl has become the group's new 'first lady' and replaced lori and lori hears them talking, doesn't believe them and goes looking for rick only to find him and daryl in a compromising situation. bonus points if daryl notices her but doesn't tell rick and just smirks at lori or something.

You refuse to believe it, at first. Beth and Carol are blushing furiously, Andrea’s trying to contain her laughter, and Patricia is patronizing Maggie. Maggie, who doesn’t have the decency to look even a little bit ashamed as she continues describing what she saw on the outskirts of the farm. None of them have any idea that you’re standing just outside the room.

Carol declares, in that soft-spoken yet firm way of hers, that you don’t deserve it, despite what you’ve done. You want to laugh and cry and scream all at once, _yes i do i’m a monster and i deserve hell but rick’s not like that, rick doesn’t know what it means to not be perfect and true._

But as you peek into Daryl’s room to see if he needs anything, you’re proven wrong.

Daryl’s sitting up among his pillows, still sluggish from his wounds but otherwise perfectly lucid as he sways towards your husband perched on the edge of the bed. He rucks Rick’s shirt up with the heel of his hand, kisses the place where Rick’s spine begins, then his neck, then his shifting shoulder blades. Rick lets out a gasp like he can’t help himself, smothers it quickly with his knuckles. Daryl mutters something unintelligible, punctuates it with a sharp nip to Rick’s ear, and Rick hesitantly uncovers his mouth.

Stunned as you are, you find it in yourself to back away slowly and make it to the bathroom before breaking down completely.

You don’t think you were noticed by either of them, judging by how they don’t treat you any differently. But out of the corner of you eye you swear Daryl lifts the corner of his lips in an infuriating, callously smug smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, lori may not be my fave character, but i never feel comfortable bashing her, or seeing others do that. she wasn’t some villain, but a mom and a wife; not the most perfect one, but i understand why she acted and did stuff the way she did. so this turned pretty angsty instead of what the prompter wanted, methinks.


	5. lover to lover, black to red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: i just want some rough sex rickyl

There are days when Rick trails light suckling kisses down behind your ear, on your throat, the trenches of your ribs, and when you squirm and mumble, “fuckin ticklish there, asshole,” he grins and drags his teeth across your waist. The stupid snort of laughter you can’t help at that makes this adorably dopey smile spring on his face, and you pull him up to get to that mouth again, all gentle and sweet. Hands that just can’t stay off you as he pushes into you, childlike wonder on his face, taking years off him.

And then there are days like yesterday, when he all but breaks you, but only because you let him, because you _want_ him to. You love the marks he leaves on you, traces of his unmitigated need for you like an animal, always holding your body a little too close. The hickeys all along your neck, hipbones, the insides of your thighs. How he cries out _daryl!_ into your shoulder like it’s the last word on earth. The stubble burn under your nipple, the scratches his nails have left on your back. The bite on your lower lip from when he overreacted as you twisted your fingers deep inside of him, and you lick at it absently, smile.


	6. got you to keep me warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Rickyl PDA fluffiness with mistletoes+daryl acting ooc cause, duh, it's christmas+the rest of the group getting sick of the fluff?

You may not have been too fond of winter aside from the holidays and end-of-the-year bonuses back before the world ended, but now you’re grateful for the frigid temperatures slowing the walkers down, the frost immobilizing nearly all of them and allowing people to gather enough supplies for a measly Christmas celebration in peace. You’re not even sure if Beth’s gotten the date right, but the cheery spirit of giving and camaraderie already abounds.

Even if it’s still the eve before, Dr. S already presents Hershel with his gift: a prosthetic leg you know Glenn and Maggie made him find, and you can’t help smiling when he gets all flustered as the old man hugs him over and over. Carl and the other kids are redecorating the little pine tree merely propped up in a corner, Judith is sound asleep in Carol’s arms, Tyreese is even crooning _All I Want for Christmas is You_ to Michonne and Karen like a right Tony Bennett, not minding that they’re pretending to cover their ears and cry for him to stop. Everyone’s full from good food, safe and happy. You keep holding yourself back from pinching yourself to check if this is some utopic fantasy.

A sudden laugh from across the hall has you straightening up in your seat because it’s Daryl who made that lovely sound. He’s still grinning at Zach, and the poor kid looks like his head’s about to fall off because did he just make Daryl Dixon crack up?

“Well, aren’t you chipper,” you remark as he lopes over to you and all but curls up in your lap like a contented lapdog. He just smiles innocently as he dangles something above your heads, and you grin back. “And one for clichés now too?”

He shrugs and hefts the mistletoe to his other hand, aiming for disinterested and failing spectacularly, thanks to the gleam in his eye. “Found it on an old apple tree, thought we might as well use it.”

It’s your turn to laugh now, and you take his free hand to tangle your fingers together, pleasantly surprised that it’s another thing he allows. “Own up: you about broke your ass shimmying up trees just looking for this thing.”

Now he looks a bit embarrassed, teeth worrying his lower lip, and you have to dig your nails into your thigh to keep yourself from just ripping his clothes off in front of everybody. “Michonne helped,” he confesses, avoiding the question in lieu of touching his forehead to yours, breath ghosting over your skin in a hoarse whisper of “Now ya gonna kiss me or m’I just gonna hold this stupid thing up here ‘til my arm falls off?”

You don’t know how long you make out like teenagers, but it’s enough to make Carl yell _oh my god dad i thought you didn’t want me to grow up with brain damage_ and for the others to start hooting and cat-calling. You simply can’t bring yourself to care, though, and judging by the way he’s gazing at you like a moonstruck calf, neither does Daryl.


	7. led the revolution in my bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: I'd like to read about Rickyl getting it on for the first time, preferably Daryl being the top. I wonder who would make the first move?
> 
> original prompt: Do you think you could write something of Daryl and Rick's first time and Daryl freaks out the first time he makes Rick moan. Cute and smutty as possible please ahhh.

"Hey, it’s okay," you whisper, like you’re talking to a spooked horse, which is exactly what he seems to be at the moment. His whole body is ramrod stiff, eyes darting everywhere around your cell except meeting yours. You step closer to cup his neck, his pulse jumping under your palm, and brush your lips to his cheekbone. "Daryl, it’s okay. I want this, want _you._ You gotta believe that.”

He exhales, finally looks straight at you, tearing down the walls and letting the bleeding pieces of his heart shine through. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You may have made that crucial first move but it’s Daryl who closes the remaining distance between you, kissing you so hard you nearly fall on your ass, and you laugh into his mouth, slow things down to a gentle slide of lips and tongue, reassurance and achy want all at once.

When you break apart long enough for you to drag him into your bunk, his tiny smile and his hands curling around yours honestly makes you want to cry.

It’s both endearing and ridiculously hot, all the hesitance and dogged determination in his movements, such an odd combination. He freezes when you press the bottle of lotion into his hands, but gives in when you stroke your teeth down the column of his neck and rasp out _please._

And then he’s swallowing down your cock and pressing two slick fingers into you and it’s too much and not enough, your back arching helplessly as you squeeze your eyes from the overwhelming sight, an embarrassing high-pitched moan escaping you.

He withdraws from you completely, looking downright terrified as he splutters “fuck are you okay did i hurt ya” and it’s both so sad and goddamn adorable that he thinks he could ever do wrong by you. But every nerve ending in you is screaming bloody murder and you feel like you’ll spontaneously combust if he doesn’t do something soon. You hook your legs around his hips to drag him back, gasping, “You can break every bone in my body if you want, man, just _don’t fucking stop_.”

He actually laughs at that, all breathless and relieved, and your head nearly falls off. You suspect he’s only ever laughed a handful of times before because it’s a dangerous thing in large doses, that siren song. “Well alright then. Bossy prick.”

"Shut up and get to it," you grumble, but with a sheepish grin on your face. He covers your body with his, kisses you so sweet in contrast to the harsh stroke of his fingers over your arousal, then back inside you. You let your eyes flutter shut, cling on to him like a storm anchor and lose yourself completely.

When it’s over and he’s tracing the fine line of hair down to your softening cock, he mumbles, ”Sorry I freaked out earlier. You just. Never heard nobody make that sound ‘cause a me before.”

"Get used to it," you sigh, slinging an arm around his waist. "We’re doing that a lot more."

The last thing you feel before you drift off is his wide smile against your skin.


	8. follow you down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Sweet Rickyl reunion+relieved tears and it'd be really cute if when they saw the other coming somewhere a little further away they'd start running toward each other and then meet in the middle and just crash into each other and fall over and onto the ground or something

Your heart literally stops when you’re close enough to make out the two figures seated on the ground in front of the battered pickup. You’ve stopped in your tracks, not breathing right, because it’s too good to be fucking true. But then the person on the left sees you and and starts, tries to get his feet. The bruised mechanism in your chest suddenly roars to life again as if making up for lost time, and you start to run, not caring that Beth’s a mile away still waiting for you to come back with breakfast, that the strap of your crossbow is biting into your shoulder with every stride, that you’re bone-weary and probably looking like a prize idiot, you just _run._

"Daryl?" he cries out, and you can see how he’s putting all the weight on his right leg and dragging his left, how his face is still a mess, how he’s stretching out his hand like he can’t believe it either, he needs to feel your skin against his. The thought puts a last burst of manic energy through you, and you all but knock him over, but you have enough presence of mind to make sure he doesn’t fall on his bad side, keeping him locked in your arms as you gasp over and over, "sonuvabitch, sonuva _bitch._ ”

He laughs all cracked-open and hysterical, hands clenching and unclenching in your hair, his tears wetting your neck and you only vaguely feel some of your own slipping down your cheeks.

"You’re okay," he moans, and you tilt his head to press your lips to the pulse hammering in his temple.

"I’m okay," you reply, amazed at how calm and firm your voice is when you feel like screaming. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Michonne grinning and Carl climbing out of the pickup to run towards you. "We’re gonna be okay."


	9. safe here with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: One night Rick has a nightmare and Daryl's there to comfort him while someone from the group hears the whole thing in the cell next to theirs.
> 
> this is a very long thing from bob stookey’s POV in case that’s not implied enough, because my love for him is reaching irrational heights.

It’s slow going, committing all these new names and faces to memory. After all you’ve been through you just don’t have the heart to make that effort anymore. But the very first people you meet in this new group stand out, of course. The old doc with the prosthetic leg who checked you for wounds and illnesses. The silent presence of the woman wielding dreadlocks and an awesome katana. The pretty one, Sasha, with a formidably hulking force of a brother. Daryl Dixon, the one who picked you up off the road, a guy whose very name is something you’re not likely to forget in a hurry. Rick, the grizzled man who made such simple questions hold the weight of the world: _how many walkers have you killed? how many people? why?_ The solemnity in his eyes right then is something you take comfort in; it’s nice to know you’re not the only one who’s seen and lost too much and is fucking sick of it.

You get placed by Daryl’s cell, and maybe it’s their way of monitoring you until you can be fully trusted, or maybe it’s nothing at all, but you don’t mind. He’s a good guy, always offers you a smoke when he’s lucky enough to get his hands on an entire pack after a run. He hangs out a lot with Rick’s son, Carl, who likes talking about what you did in the army, and always comes by whenever he has his baby sister in his arms, like she’s something so awesome she should be shared with everyone.

It’s not until you’ve been here two weeks that you realize sometimes Daryl doesn’t sleep in his cell, and sometimes you catch Rick slipping away at the asscrack of dawn, before mostly everyone is awake and can see.

You don’t think much of it, really. A man’s gotta do what he has to or risk going insane, is the code your platoon lived by, and in this new age it’s never rang truer.

But you only truly understand the gravity of the situation when you’re still trying to fall asleep one night and hear sobs trickle through the wall.

You sit up immediately, blood running cold and worst-case scenarios already flashing through your mind as the sobs morph into screams. But then Daryl’s hushed fierce growl, “rick, goddamnit, it ain’t real, i’m here, i’m right here, wake _up_ ” and a scuffle, the gasp of a man jolted out of nightmare and shadow.

“Oh god I’d turned,” and it unnerves you, how you can barely recognize Rick’s voice from the querulous terror twisting his words, “I’d turned and I was coming straight for you and Carl and Judith and it was like I was watching it happen, I was begging you to just stop me, shoot me but you didn’t and. _Fuck_.”

“Hey. Hey, look at me. It was just a dream, and it’s over now. It’s over.”

“…I’m sorry I –”

“Ain’t got shit to be sorry for. Now c’mere. I’m gonna be hittin the Big Spot tomorrow, and you gotta haul Carl’s ass outta bed bright and early and teach him bout cucumbers, remember?”

When Rick laughs, however watery it sounds, it’s genuine, at least. “Yeah. Okay.” You think they’ve lulled off again when Rick murmurs, nearly too faint to make out, “Don’t fall asleep?” He phrases it like a question, like it means something else, and Daryl answers, “I won’t. I swear” and that probably means something else too.

The next morning you ask to join the supply run. If a group can be built in such solid trust and loyalty, you figure it’s worth making an effort for after all.


	10. seeing green is overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: I'd very much love to see something by you of Rick being jealous and possessive over something silly and platonic, like a hug between Carol and Daryl maybe?

It’s irrational and utterly ridiculous, but you can’t help scowling a little whenever you see Daryl’s shoulders shake with mirth at something Carol’s said, or his smile upon seeing her with the kids. On days like that you just grit your teeth and carry on, because you can always make him pay for it later when it’s just the two of you in his cell, slow and sweet as honey.

But this? This is just pushing it.

“That’s just adorable,” Michonne laughs, and it takes you a few seconds to realize she’s even said something. “What is?” you ask, playing dumb although you both know how transparent you sound.

She snorts and gestures to where your eyes were riveted to earlier: Daryl and Carol splayed against the guard tower, practically glued to each other’s sides as they chat and smile. “You look this close to just whipping your dick out and pissing on him so everybody’ll stay away from your territory, even his own friends.”

“I’ve half a mind to,” you sigh, yanking out the weeds in your tuber patch a bit harder than necessary. “I’m not saying I don’t trust him but. Aw hell, it sounds pretty stupid aloud, doesn’t it.”

She chuckles again, and it’s so refreshing seeing her with her guard down, all open and at ease. “Well, he trusts you with me, doesn’t he?” she quips, a sharp little smile on her face, and you can’t help grinning back and holding your hands up in a _guilty as charged_ motion.

“What was that all about?” you say to him, after he’s joined you and Carol’s gone back inside with Michonne.

He shrugs. “Nothin. Just talkin bout how cute the new kids are, those blonde sisters? Remind her ‘a Andrea and Amy.” He’s solemn for a moment, then arches his eyebrow at you. “And what were you talkin bout with Michonne?”

“How cute _you_ are,” you tease him, smirking triumphantly when he scoffs but ducks his head in something more than embarrassment. You just know he’s remembering the last time you called him that: you on your knees as you dragged your mouth over every exposed inch of his skin you could reach, muttering “so goddamned cute, you’re gorgeous like this, jesus daryl you kill me.” He grumbled to you about stubble burn all week, threatening to hack off the overgrown furball on your face for good, but never went through with it.

Yep. There’s nothing to be jealous of after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes, i hinted at ot3. lalalalala.


	11. my hand's on my heart, part i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Please write a drabble where Rick has a close call with a walker but Daryl saves him, and coming close to nearly loosing Rick again makes Daryl do something unusual (e.g. declaring his love in a Daryl-like way).

You don’t know what it is that’s made Daryl act this way. All you know is ever since that last run you went on with them (the run where three walkers got the drop on you and one’s snarling maw was a mere inch from your jugular before its eye socket exploded from Daryl’s arrow), he’s withdrawn from you almost completely. Whole days go by without you running into him, and the conversations you have whenever that happens are stilted and recalcitrant, with him breaking it off with a muttered “got somewhere to be”. He even goes as far as nearly reducing Carl to tears when the boy bugs him about not visiting Judith anymore, and that’s when you decide this stupid spat has to end.

”What did I do, Daryl?” you demand him once you’ve cornered him in the boiler room, made sure you’ll remain uninterrupted until this is over. He’s hunched over his bow, the old one, you realize with an ugly sinking feeling in your gut. Whatever this problem is he has with you, it’s pretty bad.

"Was it something I said?" you continue, wishing he’d just look at you already. "Wherever I went wrong, don’t take it out on Carl. Tell me so I can fix it and we can be friends again."

He scoffs like he just can’t believe how dense you are. “What’s wrong is you’ve got a fuckin death wish or somethin, so you stick to your vegetables, farmer. No more runs for you, not after that stunt you pulled. Goddamn useless city slicker.”

You don’t bother containing your incredulous laugh, if only to hide the fact that his words have actually cut you pretty deep. “Is that what this is about? My one little slip-up made me lose all the respect I ever had from you?”

He suddenly gets to his feet and you jerk back, already bracing for the blow to your cheek or the knee to your groin. But he just stands there with his fists tucked against his sides, strung so tight he’s practically vibrating. His eyes, when the finally meet yours, are so awash with emotion, but it’s not just anger. He looks…scared, somehow, like he’s a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And what comes next stuns you. “Y’almost died last week and I ain’t gonna keep savin your dumb ass. I don’t gotta be the one Carl talks to when you don’t come back with us neither.” His mouth snaps shut like even he’s shocked at how much he’s saying, but he finishes lamely, “So. Yeah.”

"Aw Daryl, I get it, I do," you sigh, sitting beside his spot on the floor, rubbing at your neck. "But you can’t pull away from me cause I could die anytime. And from Carl and Judith too? I’m your friend, I worry about the same things you do."

"Don’t you get it?" he chokes out, dropping to his knees between your sprawled-open legs, tugging at your hair so tight you hiss as you look up at him. "I can’t ever be just friends with you." He looks and sounds like his heart is breaking and suddenly yours does as well, because his actions haven’t made a lick of sense and now they do.

When you press your lips to his he lets out a sob, then a gasp when you pry open his mouth and swipe your tongue inside.

You pull away for a moment to grin and say, all ridiculously happy, ”Looks like we’re not just friends anymore” he groans “shut up” and kisses you until your lungs ache.

"Nothing’ll happen to me, Daryl," you murmur once you can breathe right again. "Not while I’m stuck with you."

"Damn right, you’re stuck with me," he growls, a wry smile on his face, and you don’t do anything after that, just sit curled up around each other, and stay.


	12. my hand's on my heart, part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: fluffy&angsty rickyl where one of them gets bit and the other sits with them till they die but can't bring themselves to shoot the other and won't let anyone else shoot them either and instead lets them turn. the ending is up to you, surprise me?
> 
> warning: spoilers for the comics-verse here

None of this seems real. The walkers that all but mowed down Alexandria’s walls, the bullet that’s torn open your boy’s skull, the gushing red under your hands from Daryl’s back.

"No, don’t do this to me," you gasp, trying to staunch the hole all the bites have made even if you know it won’t do any good, even if you know what’ll come next. "God, don’t do this to me, he doesn’t deserve this, no, no,  _please!”_

He’s gazing up at you like it’s taking everything he has, his hands scrabbling weakly at your sides. “Carl?” he wheezes, and you almost don’t understand it over the blood bubbling out of his mouth. “Carl alive?”

The last you saw of him was his motionless form on Denise’s table, and he’s probably dead already for all you know. But you can’t bear to even consider that, and neither does Daryl.

"He. He’s okay. He’s okay, and you’re gonna be okay too." 

His laugh, when it comes, hardly sounds like one, and you feel what’s left of your strength crumble completely.

"Daryl, I’m. I should’ve watched your six, oh God, I’m sorry, please, I can’t do this without you." And it’s true, it’s never been truer than it is now, when a good chunk of your son’s head has gone and there’s a civil war you’re expected to solve.

But he’s shaking his head as best he can, touching your face tenderly and it’s somehow both the best and worst thing he could ever do. You only then realize that you’re crying when his fingertips come away wet.

"I’m okay, Rick." His chest is heaving and his voice is so faint, so small. "Just like you said. I’m okay. You’re here, so I’m okay."

Incoherent moans bubble out of you as if you’re the one dying on a dusty road, and you nod and hug him to your chest, kiss him one last time.

Michonne and Abraham find you like that, wrapped around him and staring at his peaceful face, like he’s just sleeping. “Rick.” Michonne’s quietly stern voice seems to reverberate in your skull, but you don’t bother to meet her gaze. “Rick, Carl’s pulled through. Denise doesn’t know if he’s gonna wake up soon, but he’s alive.” She seems quite unnerved, and you wonder if you look as empty to her as you feel.

"I. I can’t do it." You turn away and stare at your redred hands, so much red, all you see is red. "God, Michonne, I can’t, please don’t ask me –"

Abe cuts you off with a gruff, “Nobody’s asking you shit, man. I’ll do it. Go be with your boy.”

You let yourself be led away by Michonne like a docile child, and she leaves you at Carl’s bedside free to break down once more and wonder  _how am i supposed to come back from this_.


	13. burning like a fuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: How about one similar to the ep where Shane taught Andrea to shoot, got horny and then they bumped uglies in the car but one with Daryl teaching Rick how to use the crossbow? Bonus points if the others hear the car horn (cause you know these two would make a racket...) and come investigating.

This isn’t what you were expecting when Daryl told you it was a good day to take you up on those crossbow lessons he promised you. You’d driven the pickup out to the edge of the prison gates and climbed into the back, and from there he crouched by you as you sent bolt after useless bolt at straggling walkers until they got too close and you had to use your knives.

Now you’re jammed against the door of the shotgun seat as he locks his knees around your waist. The stick-shift is digging into your calf and he curses at the buttons of your shirt, bites and laves your skin so hard there will be imprints in the shape of his mouth all over you for  _days_.

Not that you’re complaining. How can you, when your whole body’s been keyed up from staying so close to his for that long, the sun beating down on you and transmuting your limbs to a clumsy sweat-slick jelly. Daryl was no better, softly murmured instructions right on your ear, an almost hungry look in his eye as you hefted his Stryker to your other shoulder, hand pressing into the small of your back as indication of when to pull the trigger. If you concentrated hard enough you could make out his racing heartbeat from where his chest was glued to your side.

When he pressed his lips to your neck you decided you’d had enough of this pointless teasing, and all but yanked him into a hard, demanding kiss. You got as far as getting off the truck before he slammed you into it, and the metal was warm enough that it felt as alive against your back as he did in your arms, thrumming and hot, so hot, we should get inside, daryl, come on. He settled for slipping his hand into your jeans and moaning low when he immediately hit skin, realized you’d gone commando.

Okay. So maybe you were expecting this, a little. But it honestly doesn’t matter how you got here. What matters is you’re here at all, Daryl gasping as you suck indolently on his shoulder and scrape your fingernails lowlowlow on the place where his hip meets his thigh. He retaliates with a harsh tug on your cock, nearly too tight and you jolt into it, and your foot hits the horn with a loud resounding explosion of noise and you want to  _die_.

He freezes for a few seconds, then starts sniggering into your chest once he’s realized what happened, little giggly busts of air and you headbutt him softly with a whined “it’s not funny, man, what if someone comes running because of that –” Of course by then he’s shucked his pants and chooses that moment to sink onto you, already stretched open and  _wet_  and would you look at that, it looks like you’re not the only one who prepared for this so-called shooting lesson. That’s your last delirious thought before he starts moving and cuts off all thought processes completely.

“Rick? Daryl? We heard the car horn OH MY GOD SASHA BACK UP BACK UP THEY’RE FINE THEY’RE TOTALLY FINE JUST TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW.”

For the second time you groan in humiliation and he laughs and laughs and laughs, the both of you angling your heads to see Glenn hastily retreating up the hill, waving away a perplexed Sasha. “I really hate you right now,” you sigh, and he says smugly, “No you don’t,” punctuates it with a flex of his inner muscles around your cock and yeah, he’s always right.


	14. somebody's gonna come undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Could you write something where Rick and Daryl go on a supply run together on Daryl's bike? It could be something else too, I'd just like to see them on that bike together.

You only now remember why you’d told yourself it was a bad idea to take Rick with you on this trip. It was just more baby stuff, clothes and toys for Judith, you didn’t need anyone coming with you but he had insisted, and the one truck you had was shot to hell so.

Rick’s got his chin on your shoulder, humming absentmindedly and the vibrations of his voice are like ice chips down your spine. He hangs on to you even if there aren’t any curves or bumps in the road that need him to do so. Arms around your waist, his thighs pressing into the backs of your legs in a way that’s making it hard to drive. Not because you’re off-balance. Not because it’s awkward, Rick being a guy riding bitch with you.

No. It’s getting hard to keep the bike on the road because you’re growing hot about the feel of his hard thighs against yours, and just when you think you’re getting over it, he tucks his hands into the pockets of your leather jacket, and you can feel his fingers on your belly, strong and sure, holding you against the force of gravity.

So having Rick like this behind you turns you on. Sue you.

The second you reach the abandoned strip mall you swing off the bike to yank him between your legs, kiss him like his lungs have all the oxygen you’ll ever need, and that’s already halfway true, actually. When you break apart after a long while he smiles languorously at you, eyes gone so dark you can only barely make out the blue lining the edges, gorgeous wrecked mouth parted in a silent laugh.

“You’re just so _easy_ ,” he chides, his amusement twisting into a weak cry when you grind him into the upholstered seat of your bike, and you grin with the buttons of his shirt against your teeth, mumble, “who’s easy now” but by then neither of you are all that invested in an answer.


	15. the nile ain't no river and all that jazz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Rick makes the first move but for whatever reason Daryl turns him down. Then later he changes his mind because he just can't resist Rick.

When you finally kiss Daryl, it’s not the sparking warm fairytale kiss you’d always imagined it would be. It’s clumsy, and his mouth opens under yours from shock more than anything else, his teeth scraping your lips, then his fist.

Yeah, that second thing was pretty uncalled for too.

If, the following day, you avoid him because you feel like a prize dolt, you only do so due to your certainty that he’s feeling the same. You didn’t just kiss him on a whim, after all. So you’re not that surprised to find him hovering uncertainly in your cell later that evening.

The hope bubbling up in your chest is quelled immediately, however, when the first words he utters are a stiff, flatly angry “I ain’t queer.”

You sigh, already tired and cut deep. “You kicked Carl out just to tell me that? I didn’t say you were.”

He seems to take insult at your patronizing tone, and he bites out, “I don’t go for guys, alright? Just. You.” The harshness in him thaws out, leaving a lost, guilt-ridden longing that makes you forgive him as well as want to kiss him again, but you settle for smiling at him in what you hope is a reassuring manner. That also turns out to be a bad idea, though.

“Ow,” you grumble, swiping your tongue over your stinging lip, startling when Daryl’s suddenly _there_ , standing so close he has a knee between your legs as he tilts your chin up to inspect the damage.

“Got you pretty good, huh.”  His tone is unreadable, as is the scrutiny in his gaze.

“You could say that,” you chuckle, licking your lip out of nervousness this time, breathless anticipation building in your gut when his eyes drop down to track the movement.

Then he’s leaning forward, his tongue prodding the cut his knuckles made, cotton candy-soft as if that’ll heal it up, and. _God_. Everything in you seems to go liquid, and you have to grip his arms as he nibbles your lower lip or you’d fall to the floor.

He pulls back to smirk at you. “Well, ain’t ya gonna return the favor?” and his voice is all raspy molten gold shutting down what’s left of your neural processes, but you find it in you to say jokingly, “As long as you don’t punch me this time.”

Already he’s shaking his head, deathly serious in promising you: “I won’t. Ain’t gonna be that stupid again.”

You hug him to you, just breathing him in for a moment. Then his mouth is hesitantly meeting yours in a proper kiss this time, though as chaste as it is you feel it like a jolt through your body, and when it turns fiercer and the cut on your lip reopens, you grin. He tastes the blood between you and tugs you to the bunk, grinning right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are only two and a half hours left to christmas here and i'm spending it writing slash. i should get help. or a life. or both. haha. anyway, happy holidays, darlings!


	16. picture perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Daryl steals Glenn's polaroid, takes some inappropriate photos of himself and leaves them around for Rick to find. Bonus points for smug!Daryl after Rick finally succumbs to him and drags him away in front of everyone else.

It takes every ounce of your power to not crow and punch the air in triumph as he strides through the hall all jaunty-gaited and fuming, though you settle for a smirk at him through your lashes. His face when he skids to a stop in front of you is so priceless you wish you still had Glenn’s camera. You lean back in your seat on the bench, legs sprawled wide enough that he presses one knee against your crotch and grabs your collar so he can bear down on you fully.

Rick’s like a caged animal, barely-there restraint in the flex of his fist around your shirt and the hitches in his breathing, the way his eyes have gone black like the sky does before a storm. “You motherfucker,” he says, already so wrecked and you feel like a kid gleefully burning ants with a magnifying glass, see you see that look what i can do. “You son of a bitch, when did you – do those things. In those pictures.” His throat bobs up and down and you trace the movement lazily, wanting to follow it with your tongue and teeth. Which you will eventually, you’re pretty sure.

“A while ago,” you say, casual as you please, a pleasant heat building in your gut as you remember nearly biting through your tongue trying to keep quiet, your fingers quickening inside you and the whir of the camera breaking the stillness of the night. “Was bored, didn’t have nothin to do. Thought you might like em.”

He lets out a strangled sound, his knee grinding into your dick and you somehow keep yourself from gasping, and instead give him your most shiteating grin. “But like I said, it was a while ago, so if ya were to fuck me right now you’d have to take your time stretchin me.”

“Nah, maybe I wouldn’t even bother with that.” He drops his voice to a ragged conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe I’d lick you open just enough then split you in two with my cock, would you like that? ‘Course you would. I’ve been walking around like a teenager getting hard from a gust of wind, it wouldn’t take me long. But you? I’d take my time, bring you to the edge over and over until you’d be as desperate as I’ve been all goddamn day, begging for anything I could give you, _anything_. How’s that, Dixon?”

Okay, you may have underestimated how extreme his reaction would be, because you feel like you’re gonna come in your shorts from those sinful words alone. “That’d work too,” you manage to say, and now it’s his turn to look smug at the breathlessness in your voice. And this may not be a contest but _damn_ , he got the drop on you.

When he straightens up and stands, you follow him, ignoring the odd stares of those who’ve witnessed your bizarre exchange. His hand is heavy and possessive on your shoulder and it wouldn’t be any different than if he just threw you over his back and hauled you into his cave to have his way with you. You’d be snorting in amusement if you weren’t so hard you can’t see straight.

The second you reach the boiler room he pins you to the floor, mouth and hips relentless against yours. His hands tear open your jeans so fast that you actually fear for your junk, but then he’s planting biting kisses up the inside of your thighs, panting into each one, “for the picture you left by my music player,” “for the one under my pillow,” “carl found the one in my laundry, jesus daryl i didn’t know what to tell him.”

You chortle, but whatever witty retort you prepared from him dies on your lips as he abandons slicking your hole with his tongue for sucking on your balls, and holy fuck, you can’t wait to see how he reacts to the ones you have of eating out Michonne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sneaking in the ot3 again! lalalalala i'm the santa of porn. merry christmas everyone.


	17. more than you bargained for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: i'm only doing four more of these babies before i move on to bigger and better things. (read: jailbait!daryl. hmmmmmh.) maybe i'll ask for prompts when i have author's block but otherwise? ehh. we'll see. but as early as now i wanna say thank you for all the lovin', and ughhhh i love y'alls so much.  
> original prompt: I'd love to read one where it's just the two of them talking and maybe alcohol has loosened their tongues and somehow the topic of sex comes up in the conversation. Rick tries to convince Daryl that he and Carol would make a nice couple and Daryl's getting frustrated because he's got a damn good reason why he isn't interested in her. *wink wink* And he confesses this to Rick.

“Man,” you mumble, grinding the heel of your hand into your eye socket, a bleary smile on your face. “The one thing I didn’t anticipate if the world ever ended was how it’d just be you and your hand, if y’know what I mean.”

The two of you may be all alone inside the guard tower getting wasted on stale beer and wine like juvenile delinquents, but Daryl chokes on his drink anyway. After he gets his lungs functioning again, he muffles his laugh into his arm. “Didn’t know that even bothered you.”

You chuckle, absentmindedly rub at your mouth. You don’t know why such an idea’s popped up in your head but you might as well roll with it. “Oh, it bothers me, alright. Mmh. But _you_ shouldn’t.”

He frowns, and you want to smooth away the adorable crease between his brows with your thumb. “Wha’sat supposed to mean?” he asks.

You gaze upwards, and it’s a beautiful night, stars and satellites and the moon, look at that _moon_. “You and Carol, s’what I mean,” you say, grinning crookedly and twisting your head around to meet his eyes but he’s more invested in staring at his can with an even more intense scowl on his face. You laugh and bump your shoulder to his, your shirt sliding over his skin.

“Hey, c’mon, s’true! You guys would be good together, hell you’re practically married.” You’re prattling but he doesn’t seem to care, downing his whole drink in one go like he’s trying to get the guts to deny everything. Which he does.

“She’s a friend, that’s all. Wouldn’t work.” He’s all terse, clipped sentences where he used to be smiling and relaxed, and you don’t know why he’s being so stubborn about it, he deserves to be happy, not lonely and alone like you.

You don’t realize you’ve said these things aloud until he darts his eyes to yours with a flush on his face, but that might just be the drunk taking full effect. You sway nearer to him, equilibrium shot and an unsteady yet genuine smile of encouragement on your face. “You’re, like. So my best friend right now. And I’m saying you gotta shot at something with Carol.”

His eyes wide and scared, and his lip is going white from how tightly his teeth are digging into it, and how close are you to him that you can even see that? “Ain’t her I want a shot at,” he says, and the warm content feeling in your stomach solidifies, coils hot. You’re so confused, and so drunk. “What?” you whisper.

He sucks in a breath, his eyelids fluttering shut and then his hand is on your face, warm and _there_ and unmistakable in its meaning.

A long moment of silence stretches between you, his words sneaking under your skin, scrape against the raw parts of your heart and. “Oh,” you exhale out, your fingers curling around the fine bones of his wrist, and he flinches like he’s expecting you to yank his hand away, and that just breaks something in you, something you’d thought was just a wild fever dream but he’s here now.

You press his hand more into your cheek, turn your head so you can run your lips up its side, kiss his palm. He gasps like he’s been shot, and he’s gaping at you as if he’s a blind man seeing color for the first time.

“Rick, fuck, are you –”

“Yeah,” you say, roller coasters and fireworks in your head, and you may be drunk but you’re perfectly lucid as you kiss him hard.

He responds almost immediately, his hands winding like smoke into your hair, mumbling your name into your mouth all low and sweet-sounding. He pulls back after a bit, his face bright red and smiling like he can’t help it. “You get it now?” he asks, and you nod fiercely, head gibbering from how warm he is in your arms.

“Slow on the uptake but I got it,” you say, and his smile goes softer, more heartbreaking, and he gently touches your face again and it’s like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn’t know if i should post smut or fluff so i did both because, hell. it’s christmas! and i lovelovelove you all.


	18. change for the better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Can you write one where Rick shaves off his beard and Daryl does not approve, plus he makes a com-ment like "don't even think about cutting your hair any shorter" or something like that.  
>  **warning** : won't make sense if you haven't read at least the beginning of the alexandria arc in the comics-verse

You step out of the shower, still amazed at the running water, the running _hot_ water and the razor and shaving cream sitting atop a sink that isn’t clogged up by blood and gunk or rusted over. Alexandria is still a little too good to be true, but you’ll take what you can get now.

Boxers, fresh new boxers over your hips and then slathering your cheeks and chin, and you smile at how alien yet comfortingly familiar this all is. You wipe away the fog that’s beaded up on the mirror from the shower, shake your head at the whole thing. “Wow. I will never get used to this.” _Ever again_ , your mind refuses to add aloud.

You’re almost done when you see the door swing open in your reflection and Daryl steps through. He starts a bit, like he doesn’t recognize you and you don’t either, not really. “Hey,” you say, smiling at him a bit before getting rid of the last streak of lather on your jaw, rub at it absently to make sure you haven’t lacerated yourself, and also to try and know the feel of it.

You rinse the razor and turn to face him, and he’s still blinking owlishly, like he’s trying to figure something out, and the look’s so disgustingly adorable on him. But then he scowls and looks away, and now you’re just confused. “How’d the talk with Douglas go?” you ask, because maybe that’s what’s bothering him.

“It went fine. Gonna maybe join Abe in construction.” He closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed. “What’s botherin me is that.” He waves vaguely at your now-smooth face and it surprises you.

“Don’t like it?” You might just be pouting, a little, and he snorts and steps forward, rubs at the divot under your lower lip.

“You look like a damn kid, and that makes me a pedophile.” He smirks when you bat his hand away, spluttering, “Jesus, I don’t look _that_ young, do I?”

He quips, “Ain’t my fault you’re so damn pretty-lookin without the scruff to make you look manly,” and you glare at him as best you can. You tug him until he’s pressing you into the sink and you’re sneaking your fingers under his shirt, just below his navel and you whisper in his ear, “The only reason you don’t like it is because beard burn turns you on so bad,” you scoff, laughing when he flushes because now you know the real reason.

The knock on the door has him sighing and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth like insurance before he moves away, and there’s a woman at the door with a set of clothes that look like your old uniform and an offer to cut your hair. It just takes one glacial glance from Daryl and his muttered promise to not touch your dick even with a ten foot pole if you ever so much as _think_ about it, and you laugh, tell her, “The uniform I’ll take, but I’m keeping the curls, thanks.”

If you join the group for the tour a little late, and the two of you can’t stop sneaking grins at each other, it might just be due to the fact that you joined him in the shower and proved to him how very _manly_ you still are even without the beard, but that’s nobody’s business but yours.


	19. shake off the angel in you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: How about one where Rick and Daryl are on a scouting trip and they come across a lake and they decide to skinny dip because they're dirty (maybe they had to take a few zombies down and it got messy) and while they're doing this they realize they have the hots for each other.

When Rick starts unbuttoning his shirt you don’t react to it, don’t mind. It’s as he starts pulling off his belt that your heart racks against your breastbone and your mouth goes dry as dust.

“The fuck are you doin?” you manage to say, and he looks up at you, genuinely puzzled before he smiles at you, that goddamned hangdog expression that makes him look all of five years old. “I don’t wanna get my underclothes wet, do you? It’s gonna be a long walk home.” He zips down his fly and your traitorous gaze drops to it as if magnetized. You look back up at it and there’s something odd and undefinable in his expression, a morbid sort of curiosity, almost, but it disappears and maybe you’ve imagined it.

He clears his throat and shuffles awkwardly in place, and you don’t quite grasp that he wants privacy for a few moments until you do, and then you snap your head back around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

Motherfucking roamers and the stupid mess they made. If you hadn’t come across them you wouldn’t _be_ like this, neck-high and buck-ass nude in a pond, furiously rinsing the gunk off your shirt so you have an excuse not to look at him. Maybe you sneak looks at him, a bit, only every now and then. At the mid-afternoon sun glancing off his damp curls, at the water seaweeding the hair on his chest, at the muscles shifting his shoulder blades. But you know that the several feet between the two of you may as well be several counties; you’ll only ever be able to look but not touch, not act on this ugly pit of want in your belly, in your soul.

“That thing’s been clean for about five minutes already, Daryl.”

You nearly take his head off on reflex from the shock of him suddenly so close, and you feel your mood darken even more when he laughs and teases, “I finally managed to sneak up on you! Who knew all it took was to be submerged in a nice cool oasis like this.”

“Didn’t know it took both of us naked neither,” you mutter, and get utterly fascinated by the blood pooling under his cheeks from embarrassment, wonder about putting your mouth there to see if the taste of overheated skin feels different. He gently tugs at your shirt until you let go, and he starts wading to the edge of the pond where he’s spread out his own shirt on a wide sunbathed rock, giving you a perfect view of his ass and oh. _Hell_. No.

He turns around once he’s done taking care of your shirt and you’re pretty much staring at his dick now but you’re gone, so far gone. Only when he starts drifting back again do you wrench your gaze back to his face, and he’s mere inches from you, close enough to touch. His crows’ feet are framing his eyes, the points of his incisors so stark against the red of his smiling lips.

“God, what’re you waiting for, an engraved invitation,” he says, hoarse and deep, and you grin, feeling hysterical when you touch his shoulder and he doesn’t pull away, not when you smooth your thumb, then your lips and tongue over the hollow at the base of his throat.

Only after he’s come from your fingers wrapped around him does he think to kiss you, murmuring your name into your panting mouth as you thrust against his hip, and that finishes you, because now this all feels like more than a quick fuck, like a promise to so much more.

You figure you’ll be alright. Rick’s always been good at giving up his heart. And you already have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today has been a shitty day and this is even shittier but i hope it suffices, guys. ilysfm.


	20. euphemistic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Rickyl isn't together yet but the flirting is hardcore on both sides even though they're both still (miraculously) obvious to the other's advances. the rest of the group would surely be going out of their minds, watching them tiptoe around each other.

You don’t know exactly when this back-and-forth started. You’d just grown so comfortable with him, so like how it is with Carol and yet not, sassy insults never to be taken at face value. And somewhere along the line the amiable banter morphed into the playful teasing that makes people put a ten-yard radius between themselves and you two in the same room together. Nobody else seems to appreciate this, the sitting together on Carl’s too-small bunk and sharing Maxx’s and Lifesavers, close enough to make you question your personal space. Except this is the man you wholly trust with your life (and maybe want to kiss to hell and back), so personal space can take a short break.

“Thank God for hard candy,” he sighs, his voice muffled and consonants softened, and you grin wolfishly. “What you got in your mouth now, Rick?”

He sniggers, tucks whatever sweet piece it is against his cheek so it puffs up like a squirrel’s. “I don’t know, I just keep putting everything in, it all tastes like heaven to me.” His eyes are evil, little lines framing the smile threatening to overtake his lips, and you retort, no matter how red your face gets, “I got something else hard and nice tasting you’d probably like to try.” You try to hit sultry and end up guffawing instead, and he’s making little _huh_ sounds into his fingers like laughing hurts and that shouldn’t be so goddamned adorable.

“Oh my god Dad, _Daryl_ ,” someone wails, and okay, you might not have used such an obvious line if you’d known Carl was standing at the door of the cell. He’s covering his ears, head bowed and decidedly not looking at either of you as he steamrolls on, “Oh my god oh my god, stop, please, we all know how gay you are for each other and I think you’d make a perfect couple but I’m only fourteen and don’t deserve this so _please_!”

He storms off, the sheets serving as curtains fluttering in his wake, and the silence that descends is smothering all the warmth in your chest. But, to your utter shock, Rick only looks surprised. “Wow, for a second there I was scared his head was gonna explode,” and how mildly he’s taking this whole thing is making you confused as fuck.

“Rick…”

“Or, like your balls would explode,” and there’s that chuckle, the last nail on your coffin because he can poke fun at this all he wants and never know how bad he’s cutting you, and you have to close your eyes from the pain. But then he’s sweeping the wrappers and candies to the side, his hand shaping your knee and this had better not be an empty, aimless attempt at goading you or you might deck him for the first time ever.

Instead he implores you, gentle and hesitant, like he has no idea what he’s doing but wants to so bad, “Daryl? Daryl, look at me, please? I wish you’d – It, uh. Looks like Carl gave us his blessing, technically.” His little laugh is every inch as nervous as you feel, and you’re heartened a bit at that. His nails scrape the seam of your jeans and you zero in on that effortlessly, lay your hand atop his and grow fascinated at the latticework your fingers make. “I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to call you on the juvenile shit we were both pulling, I. _Hell_ , Daryl.”

Because your brain’s finally caught up with the program and you’re leaning into him to press the lightest of kisses up his neck, against his stubble, the corner of his mouth. “Can we skip the heart to heart and go straight to where I fuck you through the mattress,” you growl out, and he moans at that, mouth open enough to let your lips and tongue slot against his own.

A bit of what’s left of the apple-flavored Jolly Rancher still there gets dissolved completely in the exchange, but the soft sounds you drive out of him are far, far sweeter.

Later at dinner when Rick gets terribly demonstrative in how he uses his spoon to eat his soup and you’re near to just crawling under the cafeteria table to suck him off, somewhere to your left you hear more than see Carl drop his head in his arms and groan, “I thought they’d finally stop but they’ve just gotten _worse_ ,” and Michonne smirk and rub his back soothingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you have no idea how not happy i am with this._ i’m not comfortable writing dirty talk, especially for characters as stilted and awkward as daryl, i’m sorry, but holy shit did i try. one more to go!


	21. quiet things that no one ever knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: I'd like to see Rick and Daryl behaving like an old married couple without realizing it while the rest of the group witness this much to their amusement.

They’re never grand gestures, the things they do. It’s only due to the fact that you all live in such close proximity that you even notice. The light touches, whether to greet or reassure. Rick’s soft smile whenever Carl playfully jostles his shoulder into Daryl’s. How Daryl would start to retaliate, but then get all flustered whenever he’d realize Rick’s attention focused on them. Judith’s happy shrieks as Daryl blows raspberries on her little belly, and how Rick warns him to be careful just to hear him good-naturedly snipe back. The little knickknacks Daryl always brings back for him after runs with Michonne. How they just _look_ at each other, sometimes, like the whole world’s made up of greys and they’re the only thing they can see in color.

Carol always chuckles and shakes her head whenever the subject is broached, Glenn grins and says they’re worse than him and Maggie, and Beth tucks herself against your side and murmurs, “Daddy, I want something like that, someday.”

It’s always been speculation, what Rick and Daryl are to each other. But you only ever know for certain when you hobble to Rick’s cell and see them tangled in each other like ropes to storm anchors. They’re not unclothed, and Daryl still has his boots on, even. But they’re just there on the bunk, one gently touching the other’s face on occasion as if to assure themselves they're still there. It’s a sweet, calm solace that you can’t remember sharing with your late wife, not even your first wife, and you shuffle away, deciding that your concerns can wait.

Your religion and your God have always condemned such a bond between men, but you decide then and there that what they have is too pure and beautiful in a world as sordid as your new one to be deemed a sin.

They’re not sinning. They’re not anything. They’re RickandDaryl, as they hopefully always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been an honor, gents, and a very happy new year to you! shoutout to velvetrope who is the awesomest person ever, but i love all you awesome nerds. mwahhh.


	22. concentrate on falling apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Myurra's birthday. was too short to post as a stand-alone, so i just tacked it on here.

Daryl is almost eviscerated by walker claws, long jagged rips all the way down to his undershirt and the fabric flapping like gaping maws as you run back to the car. He looks surprised, his fingers flicking at the visible strips of miraculously unmarred skin, and he grins around at Sasha and Karen in the backseat, smiling at their ashen faces and saying, “fucker got this close, ladies, lookit.”

Your hands go bloodless from where it's gripping the steering wheel, so furious and so deeply shaken you can't think straight.

He reacts characteristically, keeps insisting to you all the way back to the prison that it's nothing, i'm fine, which of course aggravates you worse. Your last sight of him for that afternoon is his eyes huge and shocked and his fists balling into stones.

Judith stirs and snuffles in your arms, and you look down at her, pace the length of your cell rocking her back and forth, trying to calm both her and you at the same time. It's nighttime and old familiar specters are snapping your ribs, your foundations asunder. Your heart doesn't feel like it's working right.

"I was tryna keep it away from you."

Your head jerks up as if on a string, and Daryl’s eyes are storm-colored and relentless in the weak light, his scowl tight-lipped.

You stare at him in disbelief, faintly amazed. “You could have shot it, finished it off,” you reason, because he truly could have, and spared you the anxiety.

"But then it was gonna get you."

And you stop. Daryl looks so tired, strained, like it’s a chore for him to make you understand that his life means nothing next to yours, and it kills you.

You exhale and close your eyes. "Don't you even realize? The worst thing that could ever happen to me wouldn't happen to me, it'd happen to you."

It's dead silent for a maddening while. Then you hear him move, walk up to you until he's close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him in waves, his soft exhales sweeping over your skin. Another long moment passes, and then he glues you both together, back to chest, his chin settling on your shoulder. His hands traverse your sides, find your hips, then bury themselves in your front pockets.

"You asshole," he rumbles, oddly choked, and you let out a breath you never knew you were holding. When you tilt your head back to press your cheek to his, he doesn't object, just hums and lifts his fingers to acquaint themselves with the planes of your nose, your stubbled jaw, the curve of your mouth. It makes your lips tingle and you automatically dart out your tongue to soothe them only to end up licking his fingertips, bland salt taste. He inhales sharply, presses himself more insistently against you.

He lets his wet digits drag down your chin, your Adam's apple, sneak into your shirt down your sternum and by then you're breathing a little faster than you'd like. "How bout you set her down and I 'poligize to ya properly," he rasps, right in your ear and just like that you're more turned on than you can ever remember being, _Christ_.

You nod jauntily, not trusting yourself to speak. You bend down to lay Judith in her crib, knowing full well to grind your ass against him in the process. He grits his teeth with a wounded animal sound, and you smirk, take your sweet time arranging Judith's blankets and waiting until she's fallen asleep.

The second you straighten again he's grabbed you by the shoulders and rammed you into the nearest wall, something manic in what little you can see of his eyes, and then his mouth is branding yours.

Everything's in that fierce gesture, everything he still can't say: i'm sorry. i've got you. i'm not going anywhere. The wolf in your chest bursts forth screaming, and you wrap your arms around him, kiss him back with everything you've got.

He rips your jeans and his open, licks his palm and molds his rough hand around the both of you tight enough that it's just this side of painful and it's _so_. You thwack your head against the cement with a trembling little half-cry, and he nips at your earlobe, breathes out harshly, “Don’t wanna wake Lil Asskicker, try an' keep it down.”

Daryl brings you off like that, with his head ducked against your neck and your face turned up towards the ceiling, pleasure driving into you like a merciless wedge until it’s over, way sooner than you thought it would take. Your legs give out briefly but there's the wall and Daryl shored up against your front, holding you together.

You’ll never let each other fall again.


End file.
